Mirror Me
by Katie1995
Summary: One-Shot! 'A silence passed over us and I took his hand in mine. "You truly don't despise me?" Carlisle watched me with his golden eyes and answered, although I could see his heart tearing slightly at my question. "Never." I stood up, my fingers still linked with Carlisle's, but I was scared about what else this young girl would unlock within the forgotten corners of my mind.' R


**(A/N - I do not own**_**The Twilight Saga **_**or the characters in any way; all rights are reserved to Stephanie Meyer)**

**Mirror Me**

**(Esme's P.O.V.)**

"I can't be here," I whispered, although I doubted Carlisle or Edward had heard me through the turmoil of having to change yet another young person. However, Edward quickly met his eyes with mine, and the sadness I felt was reflected in his ochre orbs. Giving me a small nod, I left fleetingly, climbing half way up the stairs until the grief got too much to bear.

Sitting halfway up the stairs, I dropped my head into my hands and before I could stop the shaking, it was, unfortunately, already coming in waves. I held onto the wooden bars that lead up to the banister for support.

It shouldn't have happened to a girl so young. Something so wickedly terrible shouldn't have happened to a _teenager_, barely even a young woman! At least I was excusable. I was a married woman who abided to her husband's wishes, young Rosalie Hale was a girl engaged. She didn't need to be treated as badly as she was, especially by a man who had yet to make her his wife!

Seeing her bloodied and beaten had brought back so many memories of myself and Charles. It had been horrible, seeing her bruised and broken on the kitchen table, her dress torn in the most private of places. Chills ran up and down my spine and I remember myself going rigid as Carlisle carried her through the door from the pouring rain outside, his coat tied tightly around her worn body. Just seeing her so limp and beaten reminded me of another woman in the not so distant past; me.

I was there, on the floor, slumped against the wall and curled into myself in the exact same place my husband took me, hurt me and used me. I hadn't relapsed in a long time, but seeing such a young soul in a position I had all but pushed back into the darkest corners of my mind, had caused me to come undone.

I could remember his hands on me, his breath against my face, his body pushing against mine and the blood that streamed down my legs. I could remember the days where he had invited his friends around and allowed them their wicked ways with me.

But most of all, I remember the days where after he'd left me alone, wanting to _die_! Curling into a ball at the bottom of the stairs and just hoping that death would claim me there and then.

"Esme, Carlisle's worried about you."

I stared out between the bars at Edward's concerned face. I shook my head and looked away. "I can't go back in there, Edward. Please, I just" – I paused, fidgeting with my hands – "I just need a minute."

"A minute," Edward retorted, although his voice was sad. "I can see how this is affecting you – your body language, your voice... your thoughts." I flinched, hissing ever so slightly. "I don't mean to purposely trespass in your thoughts, Esme."

"I know, but I'd rather you see me as I am now, not as I was... then," I whispered, although the lump in my throat was growing increasingly hard to ignore.

"It's okay, Esme," Edward comforted.

But it wasn't. I was meant to move forwards, be normal again.

"It's normal to remember things years after you've been changed. I don't think any less of you now after seeing what –

"I was," I intercepted, my eyes meeting Edward's again.

A pregnant silence fell on us and I sat there, breathing heavily, pointlessly, looking for a way I could get out of the past and set my mind to the present. _Exhale, inhale, _I thought, although the weight of today's situation began to crush me completely.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Edward asked, his eyes still lingering on my face. I eyed him, my voice stuck in my throat, so all I could do was shake my head in denial. "Esme," Edward continued, but I cut him off.

"I can't," I choked. "I just can't."

"Yes, you can," Edward encouraged.

I clenched my fists and cried out shortly in desperation, "I can't! There's too much to repeat, too many stupid little disjointed memories."

"Please, let me help you," Edward repeated.

I could feel the sobs building in my throat and it upset me that Edward had to see me in such a mess. It upset me that I had to become what I had fought so hard against becoming again. It made me angry that the man who I called husband for four years had done this to me, even after death. I had felt for the first time in years, defeated again.

"Esme, don't feel like that," Edward whispered, although it was more of a beg than a comfort.

I dropped my gaze onto my lap, and when I had the bravery to speak again, my voice was barely audible.

"I remember it; his hands, his breath, their faces." Edward moved around to sit next to me. From the corner of my eye, I could see him lift his arm to place around my shoulders, but I flinched and he nodded in understanding, resting his arm back down by his side.

"What else?" The question wasn't forceful, but rather softly spoken, almost as if he was inviting the rest of the memories from my mouth.

I shivered, folding my arms across my lap. "Why have I just remembered all of this?" Edward slipped his hand into my own and squeezed it gently.

"Because something has to _make _you remember – cause and effect, Esme." He paused and smiled slightly. "When you came along and I saw you the first time after your change, my mother's face had finally come into focus. You're the person who let me remember what my own mother looked like." A smile rested upon his lips, but a slight frown furrowed his brow. "I wish I could have remembered by myself, though." I looked at him, proud and sad at the same time. "No offence, Esme."

"No I understand," I replied, squeezing his hand like he had mine. "And I'm glad I helped you with something at least."

Edward sighed and I tensed again. "This is what I mean," he persisted. "I want to be able to help _you_! I see you in pain now and it hurts me, Esme."

"I can deal with it," I answered, curtly.

"No-one can go through what you did alone. Please, let me help you."

Edward wasn't giving up and while Rosalie's screams echoed throughout the house, so did mine in my thoughts, in the memories of a past all but forgotten until this evening.

"I was sat on the arm chair next to the fire in the living room, reading a book," I began, my eyes closing from their own accord. "It was getting late and Charles wasn't home yet. I remember the clock chiming, but I can't remember what the time was. I was about to go to bed, but I heard a key fumbling in the lock and so I stayed seated." I caught my breath and shook my head, clenching Edward's hand in desperation. He shuffled closer and as I began to tremble slightly.

"What happened, Esme?"

"You know!" I retorted, viciously. "You've seen what happened."

"But I want you to say it," Edward forcefully continued. "It will, I think, be best for you if you told someone – stopped beating yourself up for what you've been through."

The waves of shame didn't stop, and as I began to get my breathing under control, the next bit of the memory was sure to cause me to become undone.

"So, I heard the key and sat there, waiting, but as the first footfalls echoed across the floor, more followed with loud abrasive voices. I remember how I froze, the book falling to the floor and landing with a sharp knock. I was planning on cutting through the kitchen to the door that would lead me into the old servants' hallway where there was a staircase, but unfortunately, I never even got that far."

Edward hissed and I grimaced, clenching my eyes shut more tightly than before. My voice was becoming jumpy, almost disjointed as I stubbornly decided to keep going.

"I had reached the kitchen when his voice called my name out. I remember thinking that if I asked him, maybe he'd let me go peacefully, but Charles never did play fair. So I turned around to face him, except it wasn't just him. It was more men than I had expected, maybe four or five including Charles. I tried to excuse myself, I tried so hard to leave, but he stopped me."

I had to stop because I could feel the first of many sobs wanting to break free, and so I just sat there, with Edward's hand in mine, waiting for another dose of bravery.

"He refused, of course. He wanted to 'show his friends' his wife, show her beauty off to the drunken men that had grouped around him. I remember my body becoming rigid, but as he advanced towards me, I relaxed because he had turned towards the kitchen table, offering his men a seat and pulling out a pack of cards. It was my chance, I thought, to get away, but as I made my way to the door, a balding man placed his arm across the door way and I was stopped."

I shivered and Edward placed his arm, finally around my shoulders. "It wasn't your fault," he reminded me, gently, kissing my hair as I held onto him for dear life. I nodded, leaning into his chest for support, but I was still frightened, frightened of what I would say next. "You can tell me anything, Esme. I don't judge, nor do I hate you for what has passed."

Nodding again, scared to form words, I pushed on, my voice shaky as I did. "I turned back on myself and sat back down in the arm chair by the fire. I could feel their eyes on me, Edward." I had to say his name because I knew if I didn't still have that link back to the present, I would probably succumb completely to the memory – get lost in the past and scare myself stupid. "I was picking my book back off the floor when a man's foot came down, pinning the front cover to the floor. I wasn't sure who it was, but when I gained enough courage to look up, I saw Charles, a familiar, most horrific smile painted on his face, and I knew right there what he wanted from me."

Edward's face was contorted in what I would describe as anger. His arms had tightened around me protectively and he growled, albeit softly so he wouldn't concern Carlisle. My mind was ready, but I still wasn't able to form the words.

"I –"

"It's okay," Edward said, although it didn't really help.

"I made a break for it," I simply stated, shocked remembering that I had even the strength to do that against Charles. "I ran for the door and made it to the stairs, but the man who stopped me before grabbed me around the ankle and I slipped, falling down the few stairs I had made it up. I kicked him, spat in his face and clawed him, but he didn't let go and he held onto me until we made it back into the living room. Charles locked the doors and I was trapped."

I refrained from saying anymore there, and instead, the pain I had been keeping away came in devastating waves which doubled me over and made me shake violently in Edward's arms. I sat there, trying to breathe as what they did flashed vibrantly through my mind.

"And, and I t-tried s-so hard! But he pinned me to the wall opposite the kitchen and I-I w-was struggling to g-get him o-off me," I choked out between gasps.

"It's okay, they're not here anymore, you're safe," Edward comforted, although my mind was far too set in the past now.

"They undressed me, Edward. Every single man in that room undressed me, and then as I was forced to watch, the man who held me captive, he, he..." Realisation hit me hard and I sobbed tearlessly. "They took me there and then! I was naked, Edward, and they each raped me in turn, beat me and raped me senseless; on the kitchen table, on the floor against the wall, they each had their wicked way with me, and Charles, Charles got a sick kick out of it. He _enjoyed _it! My husband watched on as every man in that room mounted and beat me!"

I gagged on nothing, clinging painfully onto Edward as their faces came into view through the blurred bank of memories in my mind. Edward held me to him tightly and I gasped for air, as if I was purposely suffocating myself with the task at hand. But I found I couldn't stop. I wanted someone to understand! To feel the pain I was feeling.

"After every man, Charles got to me." My voice was a whisper now, all volume lost through each man I spoke about. "He let the others watch as he made me do things I can't repeat, Edward. But he made me declare my love for him over and over, and finally, when he was satisfied, he allowed them to hurt me again. One of them, a blonde haired man had a knife, the scar I had ran down from the top of my left upper arm to the crease of my elbow. I was so scared, but above all, I could see the end I so desperately prayed for every night."

Edward ran a hand over his face and muttered something unintelligible. "I'd never have wanted you to think like that."

"But I did," I retorted, "Because I made the decision myself in the end, didn't I?"

I saw a shadow spill across the floor and as I closed my eyes, another hand came up to cup my cheek. It was familiar and I leaned into the comforting gesture, finding warmth and love through an action so small. I knew who it was. It was Carlisle. But I couldn't open my eyes; I couldn't face him like this. I wandered how much he despised me now.

"No-one despises you, Esme."

I scoffed in bitterness, but reluctantly finished, now mentally fatigued. "Maggie, our house keeper, found me the next morning. I was curled into myself, shaking and ruined, but I'd made it through the cold night alive. I remember cursing God for not taking me home, but there was nothing I could do. My clothes were scattered around the room, and Maggie tried hard to take me upstairs. Eventually, she had to get John, our next door neighbour to carry me upstairs. I heard him tell Maggie how he and his wife had heard my screams, how they didn't know what was going on. He said he tried to get in, but the door wouldn't budge, even after he'd tried to break it down." I sighed, shaking my head. "I was a hopeless, hopeless case, Edward. Another man had to carry my naked form up into her own bedroom which she shared with her _husband_! I was mortified. No man should have to see another woman naked, especially as bruised and bloody as I was."

"Only because of another one's actions," Carlisle said, softly, his voice a welcoming factor to my universe in which now I teetered on the edge between my past and the present.

"The thing that destroyed me the most, however, was the fact that the weeks that proceeded after that night, were the weeks in which I learned I was pregnant." A gasp came from someone and still with my eyes closed a venomous laugh fell from my lips. "My baby, my poor, poor son was the product of a rape victim." The sobs plagued me once again and I cried in vain for my son's existence. "Because I'm such a wonderful mother," I spat, angrily. "My son could've been_ anyone's_! Do you know how disgusting that makes me feel? I feel like a whore, a wrench and my son was created during that night of pure, sadistic torture."

Edward let his arms drop from me and another pair welcomed me into a body I knew well. Carlisle stroked my hair and kissed me gently. I still shook, now with my boy's face now in my mind. Edward whispered something I didn't catch, and I knew that Carlisle had asked him for some time alone because the floor boards creaked as he descended the stairs. My hands wandered his body, looking for an anchor until I clenched his shirt for stability I lacked.

"Look at me, Esme." I shook my head in defiance. I couldn't do it. I couldn't look at the man who loved me and looked at me with those eyes of first love every second of the day.

"I can't look at you how I used to. There was no shame then, no reason for you to hate me as much as you do now."

Carlisle sighed and met his lips with mine briefly. I wanted to kiss him back, but the situation in which we found ourselves meant I felt wrong to do so. "Please don't," he begged, and voice cracked.

"Look at me, Carlisle. Do want someone who was taken against the living room wall, who was pimped out to men for fun? Do you really want to spend your life with someone as weak and as despicable as me?"

Carlisle held me, if possible, tighter and I breathed his scent in. "You're not despicable, Charles is the man who is despicable. You had no choice, and my God, Esme, I punish myself for not staying longer when you were sixteen – taking you away and proposing to you, but I was stupid and I hate myself for it."

"We all make mistakes," I mumbled into his chest.

"And your son must be immensely proud of his mother who is so strong and so powerful. You are not in the wrong."

"But imagine, just imagine if he was alive now, if I never threw myself off that cliff. What would he look like; Charles or one of his friends? God, Carlisle, I can't even think like that. It scares me to death to know I truly don't know who his father is. That I am no better than the sluts in the whore houses." My words came out in a flurry because I couldn't quite catch my breath through my desperation to reconsolidate myself.

Carlisle lifted my chin up so I met his eyes. I tried to drop my gaze, but he adamantly held me there. "I don't think he would care, Esme. You were a wonderful mother – look at you with Edward. I believe if he was still alive, and the time came to tell him the truth, he would truly appreciate you more."

I placed a shaky hand on his cheek, my bottom lip threatening to quiver. "I don't mean to trouble you," I said.

Carlisle smiled kindly and I half-heartedly smiled back, but it was small and weak. "You're no trouble at all. I would, if I could, find that man and hurt him for the things he's put you through, Esme, but I know I am far better than that. _You _are far better than that, and because of that thought, I refrain from such activity."

"Good," I replied, "Because I would never want you to have to even speak to him, let alone touch him."

Carlisle's smile broadened and I realised my shame was misdirected. I should be angry with the people who put these atrocious acts onto me. However, it still didn't make me feel better, because if it was one thing I never wanted to see after my life was Charles, was a mirror me.

Rosalie Hale, the esteemed daughter of Ruth and Edmund Hale, shouldn't have had to gone through what I did years before her. No woman did, and it hurt me to see her as beaten as I was. It made me _angry _to see how defeated she seemed.

"This should never have to happen," I stated, my voice rising. "This isn't something women should be afraid of! And yet it happens, oh, it happens. I wander how many women I pass each day that hide their bruises beneath high necked collars and long sleeves? How useless am I, Carlisle, to all these women?"

Carlisle's thumb stroked my cheek and I looked, almost madly at him for answers. "A small step can make a huge difference, Esme. I bet Rosalie needs you more than ever now."

"It's a bit too late for that, Carlisle."

"No it's not," he dismissed, "She'll need you more than anyone she's needed before. She needs someone who can sympathise with her, understand her pain."

I scoffed. "So that's all I'm useful for?" I asked, a little hurt.

"She needs someone who's compassionate and loving. She needs a mother who truly does appreciate her, and I'm sure, as time proceeds, her feelings towards having you as a mother figure will grow. Love her, cherish her, and remember her as the young woman we used to see walking around with her friends, just as you want us to remember you as you are now."

I kissed his cheek, but the memory of Charles still unnerved me. "You're all of those things."

"You're those and more," he answered.

A silence passed over us and I took his hand in mine. "You truly don't despise me?"

Carlisle watched me with his golden eyes and answered, although I could see his heart tearing slightly at my question. "Never." The severity of my confession was still fresh in my mind, but I stood up, my fingers still linked with Carlisle's. I felt lighter than I had before, but I was scared about what else this young girl would unlock within the forgotten corners of my mind.

"Where are you going?"

"Someone needs me," I replied, finally somewhat at peace for the time being. I knew that it wasn't going to be a smooth stroll, and I knew that there was probably going to be emotional turmoil between both Rosalie and I. But finally, for the first time since my change, I made a promise to help the girls that were or had mirrored me.

**A/N – Just a small story about Esme's feelings towards what had happened to Rosalie. I've always believed she would be reminded of something terrible, or it would be difficult to see someone so young to have to be in a position she fought so hard to get out of her whole married life. **

**Anyway, feedback is greatly appreciated, so if you have time, Please Review!**

**Thanks, Katie1995. :)**


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